


Chili Weather

by goldberry-in-the-rushes (thepottermalfoyproblem)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, dwalin is the worst patient, dwarven headcold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepottermalfoyproblem/pseuds/goldberry-in-the-rushes
Summary: Dwarves may not be susceptible to human illness, but that doesn't mean they cannot come down with their own terrible headcolds. Dwalin would much rather power through this minor inconvenience, but Ori has other ideas.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dwobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwobbit/gifts).



> Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday 2016
> 
> AN: As usual I own nothing.
> 
> I know the prompt said you did not want fluff so I tried to make this as not-fluffy as I could, but I'm not sure I did a very good job. I'm sorry. T.T But please enjoy 1k of Dwalin being the worst patient to ever exist.
> 
> Also the title comes from the headcanon that dwarves use strong flavors like chili peppers to fight colds. Eastern dwarves probably use wasabi or something. Idk.

_Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh, whoosh. Thud._ Faint sounds filtered through the chambers, rousing Ori from where he slept sprawled across a pile of furs. He mumbled a sleepy “Good Morning” and reached for his husband, only for his hand to slide through empty air. Frowning, he sat up and looked about. The rumpled bedclothes beside him were cold, but a steaming mug of tea rested on the bedside table.

Ori smiled fondly and wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic, breathing in the fragrant steam. The sounds from outside finally registered, a soothing background repetition calming in its familiarity.

_Dwalin must be training again,_ thought Ori as he slipped out of bed and padded around their shared chambers. He pulled on some simple yet warm clothes, winter still clung to Erebor like a burr though the weather was milder in the surrounding countryside. Mornings tended towards icy on even the most pleasant days.

The door to their chambers opened onto a large sunlit practice yard, nestled against the side of the mountain. As head of the city guard, Dwalin needed to be near the training areas of Erebor, so he and Ori lived in quarters that to most dwarves would be uncomfortably close to the surface. As Ori stepped out into the crisp morning air, he saw his husband across the way, an axe in each hand and his breath forming great clouds before him. _Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh._ Dwalin swung one axe, taking a step before following up with a second strike. The metal gleamed bright in the pale winter sunlight, leaving momentary silvery trails against Ori’s still-adjusting vision.

Ori grinned and leaned against the low wall that surrounded the yard. He watched Dwalin run through a few more sequences, then frowned a bit when Dwalin stumbled and slowed a moment later.

“Dwalin? Are you alright?” he called, suddenly worried.

“I’m fine,” came Dwalin’s gruff reply, quieter than usual. “I’m just not awake yet.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Ori. “You could do that sequence in your sleep, in fact… I think you have once or twice.” The smaller dwarf crossed the space in a few quick strides, standing before his husband with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He looked Dwalin up and down, taking in a nose and cheeks ruddy from the cold, and was about to chalk everything up to his imagination when Dwalin sniffed. Ori cocked his head to the side and looked closer. Dwalin’s eyes were fever bright as he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and tried to subtly clear his throat.

Ori spoke slowly, and a little incredulously, “Are you sick?”

Dwalin sniffed again, “I have no idea what you’re talking about…” His statement trailed off as his voice wavered and he started coughing. It was a dry, rattling cough and Ori didn’t like the sound of it one bit.

“I think you have been out here quite long enough, the guard can do without you today.” He gripped Dwalin firmly by the elbow and steered him towards their chambers, despite his weakening protests. He only paused briefly by the door for Dwalin to gently hang Grasper and Keeper back in their place of honor, then gently but firmly nudged his husband towards the bed.

“You get changed and I’ll start on some stew. Maybe we can get ahead of whatever you have,” said Ori. Dwalin grunted in begrudging acceptance, and did as he was asked.

In their small kitchen, Ori bustled about, pulling ingredients from various places. He’d already had a hearty stew simmering over the fire, but meat and potatoes alone had no chance of fighting a sturdy dwarven cold. Rummaging about in the back of a cupboard, he drew out a small wooden box Dori had gifted to him early in the winter. Ori nodded thoughtfully to himself as he ground some of the contents into a wooden bowl before ladling a portion of the hearty stew over the fine powder. While this wouldn’t cure Dwalin’s cold, it certainly would help alleviate some of the symptoms.

When Ori returned to the bedroom, he found Dwalin cocooned under a massive pile of furs, staring balefully out at the room. He took the bowl of stew carefully and sniffed at it.

“You didn’t put those peppers in here, did you?” he asked, suspicious.

“You’ll thank me later, when you can breathe properly.” Ori crossed his arms and stared at Dwalin until the other dwarf sighed and picked up his spoon. He shoveled at bit of the stew in his mouth and made a face, but ate steadily. Satisfied, Ori returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess he had left.

The first day of Dwalin’s cold passed uneventfully. After he ate his stew, he napped off and on throughout the day. Ori was left in relative quiet, aside from informing the next in command that Dwalin would be unavailable for the next week.

The second day passed much the same as the first. Dwalin napped and ate pepper-laced stew to clear his head, though he complained bitterly about the taste. He was incredibly bored, but didn’t have the energy to fight the constant naps that made his eyes heavy. Sleep was also a good for ignoring the way his throat burned like the deep forges, so he wasn’t going to make too much of a fuss.

But by the third day of being bedridden, the warrior had had quite enough. His head wasn’t quite so foggy and he could smell the spices of Ori’s peppery stew when it was thrust under his nose. As soon as Ori’s back was turned, he flung off the covers and made a mad scramble for his training gear. He was pulling one boot on and halfway out the door when Ori caught him and dragged him back to bed.

“If you want to get better you have to stay out of the cold!” chided his husband. “Just for a couple more days, if you can manage it.”

Dwalin groaned in frustration and fell backwards onto the bed. He’d never been the best patient, but at least Balin let him train.

“When you were younger, you trained indoors,” called Ori from the other room, and Dwalin realized he had said that last bit out loud.

“I can think of some training we could do together! Might even help me get better, you know?” Dwalin wiggled his eyebrows at Ori when he poked his head around the corner to stare at him.

“If you’re bored, polish something,” said Ori dryly, then turned pink as Dwalin grinned at him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he squawked. “There’s a growing pile of practice weapons by the fireplace, pick something!”

Dwalin laughed as Ori retreated back into the main room, but the laugh turned into a cough and he decided Ori may have had a point about not going outside just quite yet. That said… he could use a challenge. Dwalin smirked to himself and started plotting.

The next day, Dwalin felt mostly well, if still a little stuffy. After Ori left him to his own devices, he put his plan into motion. First he attempted the same escape he had tried the day before, noisily throwing on clothes and banging about the room. Ori must have been listening for his attempt, because he showed up in the doorway with a frown and stared disapprovingly until Dwalin climbed back into bed.

He didn’t appreciate it when Dwalin pointed out his resemblance to Dori.

As soon as Ori left the room, Dwalin tried again. He made this attempt quieter, and succeeded in getting most of the way to the door before Ori hauled him back to bed. Dwalin laughed as Ori strong-armed him back into the bedroom, he’d always appreciated the unexpected strength in his husband’s grip.

By Dwalin’s fifth attempt for the door, Ori was scowling furiously. “I know you think this is funny, but I will not hesitate to _sit on you_ if that’s what it takes to get you to stay in bed for just one more day. If you’re still feeling better tomorrow, you can go out in the cold all you want, but humor me today and stay inside.”

Dwalin grumbled, but admitted to himself that he would probably feel better if he stayed where it was warm. He relocated to his chair in the common room, wrapped in a warm blanket, and Ori took this as an acceptable compromise. Dwalin wasn’t the kind of dwarf to sit still for days on end, after all. It was only natural for him to go a little stir crazy. And if he retired to bed early in an action of pure boredom, Ori really didn’t judge him too much.

In the morning, Dwalin arose feeling more refreshed than he had for several days. His head was clear and his throat no longer felt like fiery death. He rolled over and pressed a kiss to the top of Ori’s head and frowned when the normally affectionate dwarf grumbled and burrowed further into the blankets.

“You alright there, love?” Dwalin pulled back the blanket and Ori blinked owlishly at him.

“No, I feel like a dragon has taken up residence in my head and…” Ori sneezed, and Dwalin’s smirked wickedly.

“I’ll get the peppers.”


End file.
